


Operation: Lima

by fall_into_life



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fall_into_life/pseuds/fall_into_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Pierce is one of the up-and-coming Agents of her generation, but when she's assigned to work alongside Agent Fabray in the middle of nowhere, Ohio, everything she knows about herself comes into question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For questions, concerns, snark and miscellany, hit me up at my tumblr (fallintolife).

"What's the deal, Pierce?"

Puckerman rubs the sleep out of his eyes, standing in the door to his apartment. He's in nothing but a wife beater and boxers, and Pierce takes a few seconds to just appreciate him. As a combat specialist, he's got a body that even some weightlifters would envy; unlike surveillance or manipulation specialists, he can look however he wants as long as it's not too far out there. He doesn't have any tattoos, but he's had a mohawk for as long as she's known him, and his piercings change on a whim.

"I just got an assignment," Pierce shrugs, running one hand through loosely flowing blonde hair, "I'm off to babysit one of the new kids."

Puckerman snorts, never too sleepy to scoff at one of the class of 2010. "Which one?" He asks, scratching absently at one well-defined bicep.

"Fabray," Pierce rolls her eyes, keeping further commentary to herself. She knows he's had a hardon for her since they met during his short tenure as an instructor, and while she wouldn't hold back her scathing commentary for anyone else, Puckerman is pretty much the only friend she's got.

"So, you're gonna get video, right?" Puckerman smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"Maybe," Pierce shrugs again, stepping forward to press her body against his, "but right now I've got other concerns on my hands."

"Fabray who?" Puckerman deadpans, pulling her inside and closing the door behind them.

[*]

Her whole body aches in that deeply satisfying way it always does when she's been with Puckerman. He likes to bite and switch positions without warning, and she likes to scratch and fight his movements. He couldn't bite any one place too hard since she was about to go on assignment, so instead he settled for biting just about everywhere instead.

She stretches her arms above her head, relishing the burn from the workout she'd gone through to settle herself before she left. Pierce knew better than to really exhaust or push herself right before an assignment into god-knew-what (the briefing she had been given had consisted of the completely unhelpful "assist the agent on scene", which, like, fucking duh), but a few hundred push ups and crunches were hardly pushing it, for her.

The plane ride was boring enough that she pulled up her Blackberry and more or less memorized Fabray's dossier, the only helpful information she had on the entire operation.

Fabray had been recruited from her small town in Washington on her 18th birthday. As they had with literally every other agent, the Agency had taken notice two years before that, when her test scores had made waves, and the agent assigned to watch her a year later had only good things to say about her potential as an agent. She had been a cheerleader and a dancer, involved in her school's choir. Fabray (Fabray was of course the name given her by the Agency. Her real name wasn't in the dossier; only the top Agents had access to that sort of information) had been into photography, winning several awards in local competitions, and the agent had mentioned that she seemed to have an above-and-beyond command of stage and theatre makeup that she used to make extra money working for local productions.

In short, she was perfect Agent material. Her instructors at the Academy had more glowing praise for her; she had obtained a very good command of self-defense, had a surprising amount of acting ability, and had picked up the more intellectual Agent talents like she was born to them. The only negative thing anyone had to say about her was that she was the closest thing to a 6 on the Kinsey scale the evaluator had ever seen, and would be hard-pressed to have any kind of sexual interactions with men while on assignment.

Pierce smirks at that last bit. She herself was the closest thing to a "true" 3 that existed, being only marginally more inclined toward women. It didn't matter as much for her, being a movement specialist, but when she was called upon for her second specialty, manipulation, the Agency was well-aware that she could play both men and women.

The rest of the dossier was tailored for Pierce's level of clearance, speaking in vague terms about other assignments that Fabray had been on. As far as Pierce could see, they had been exclusively short-term solo reconnaissance, the longest lasting six months. As for the current mission, the only thing Fabray's dossier said was that it was "indefinite" and "minimal-risk", which raised Pierce's suspicions.

Why bring in someone like Pierce, whose secondary specialization was identical to the AOS (agent-on-scene)? If it was minimal-risk, Fabray would hardly need someone who was an expert at parkour and driving/piloting, and if it was higher-risk than that, but indefinite, she would probably be better off with a combat specialist, or a manipulation Agent with secondary combat.

The whole thing was starting to stink, but with no further information and no way to contact Fabray herself until she landed in Lima, Pierce was left to simmer and speculate, both of which she did plenty of until the plane touched down.

[*]

"Sweep," Fabray says, her rough voice echoing into the empty house.

It was the most either of them had said since Fabray had picked her up from the airport. After a few words confirming that each of them were who they were supposed to be, Fabray had led her to the car. The entire drive had been silent, Pierce sexting Puckerman and Fabray occasionally sneaking looks at Pierce. It wasn't anything she wasn't used to, but Fabray was being levels of unsubtle Pierce had never seen in an Agent. Pierce had let it lie, however, saving the information for future use.

Now, she moves throughout the house systematically, checking each room for surveillance equipment. She focuses on the points that are harder for Fabray, at 5'3", to reach, knowing that the other Agent has already searched for the more common surveillance equipment, or she wasn't worth the title of Agent.

It doesn't take the two of them long after they fall into a rhythm, and they end in the basement of the house they have been assigned. It has a huge flatscreen TV, a projector screen, and a pool table, all of which Pierce planned on taking advantage of during her downtime.

"So, what's going on here, Fabray?" Pierce asks lazily, falling onto the couch now that they could speak freely.

"I don't know," Fabray admits tightly, turning on the projector screen and hooking it up to her Blackberry, "all I can do is tell you what they told me, and what I've found so far."

The screen flickers on, showing Fabray's background, a picture of an incredibly ugly pug. Pierce snickers, and Fabray's cheeks flares as she thumbs through to get to her private files. She punches in her password, and the first of the files comes onto the screen.

"This is the mark, Rachel Berry," Fabray says neutrally, moving through a few pictures of a good-looking brunette with Jewish features who seemed to smile in every picture taken. "I was originally assigned to get close to and protect her, with a side focus of separating her from her boyfriend, Finn. I'll get to Finn in a second."

Pierce's mind shifts gears, and she begins to soak in information. She takes in Rachel's facial features, her approximate relative height (about equal to Fabray, if Pierce is estimating correctly), her body type and preferred clothing. She also watches Fabray's body language as she speaks of her; more relaxed than Pierce had yet seen her, but with a slight tension. Pierce isn't sure yet if it is because she found Rachel not to her tastes or too much to her tastes, but she files the information away anyway.

"Her one-minute background," Fabray continues, relying on an old Agent technique for imparting only the information that mattered, "is that she's the adopted child of two gay men. Nothing on her birth mother. Her grades are on the high side of average, and her extracurriculars include show choir, theatre, yearbook, and others that she's less passionate about but still involved in. She's been dating head quarterback Finn Hudson since late last year, and they lead both the show choir and the local theatre scene. Her close friends include Kurt Hummel - stepbrother to Finn Hudson - and Tina Cohen-Chang."

"Back up," Pierce cuts in, sitting up and resting her elbows on her thighs, "this is a high school girl?"

"Yes," Fabray confirms, shifting from foot to foot. It's a slight motion, but just enough for Pierce to tell that this rubs Fabray just as wrong as it does Pierce. "She's a Senior."

Pierce sits back, heaves a sigh, and flicks her fingers at Fabray. "Do continue."

"That's it, really," Fabray admits, turning around to face to Pierce. "In person, she's... intense. She's incredibly focused. She doesn't seem to have friends that aren't either in show choir or a part of the theatre clique. When I joined New Directions - that's the name of the show choir - she seemed excited to have a cheerleader as part of the group."

"Typical high school hierarchy?" Pierce asks, wondering if cheerleaders were that far up, or show choir kids were just that far down, that a cheerleader joining was such a big deal.

"About," Fabray nods. "The cheerleaders and football players are undoubtedly on top, with the New Directions lower than everyone, including the band geeks. It's disturbing, actually, how abusive the people at the top are."

"How abusive are we talking?" Pierce asks alertly. Teenage top dog psychology wasn't by any means her forte (she loved psychology enough to get a degree in it, but teenagers bored her with their hot-cold temper shifts), but she knew that it ran the gamut from verbal to occasionally physical to borderline assault. In small towns like this, it could on rare occasion lead to murder.

"Kurt Hummel gets thrown into dumpsters, and the football players buy Slushies - that's like a Big Gulp - just to throw in the nerds' faces," Fabray recounts, her eyes going slightly out of focus as she recounts the facts. "The verbal abuse is also pervasive, but I haven't heard anything about sexual assault, and none of the kids look like that's a recurring thing, if there have been instances of it."

Pierce exhales softly. There were a lot of lines she had crossed in her time as an Agent, but that wasn't one of them, and even the "ice queen of the Agency" was relieved to hear it wasn't one she would have to cross during this assignment. "Where do we come in?"

"My story is that I got pregnant young and gave birth this summer, after which my parents sent me to live with my uncle and aunt in Lima for my senior year," Fabray says evenly, retrieving a manilla envelope from a hidden compartment next to the projector screen, "and I'll... just let you read your constructed profile for yourself. You're my cousin, I'll say that much."

Fabray's tone doesn't inspire confidence, and when Pierce reads the profile, she understands why. "I'm borderline mentally challenged, but a dance prodigy. I was in line to be class president at my old school, but probably wasn't going to graduate. I'll sleep with anything that moves, I'm friendly to the point where people can be almost abusive toward me and I'll still be friends with them, and I'm prone to breaking hearts on accident. I seriously believe my cat smokes cigars and is reading my diary-"

Pierce drops the folio onto the table in front of the television, looking at it in disgust. "Who wrote this shit?"

"I don't know," Fabray says honestly, hopping up to perch on the edge of the pool table, "but something about this entire operation is off. As far as I can tell, Rachel and everyone around her are completely normal civilians. She's insanely talented, but other than that, she and everyone around her are normal. There's something a little... off about Finn, but it's nothing that I would think twice about if I met him on the street."

Fabray reaches up to take her hair out of the high ponytail it sits in, shaking her head. "From the stereotypical sadistic cheerleader that captains the Cheerios, to teachers that are too wrapped up in themselves to care about the kids - except the coach of New Directions, but there's always one - to the creepy kid that heads up the newspaper, everything about this high school is typical for the region."

"And yet, they have not one, but two Agents watching her," Pierce says thoughtfully. "Just assigning you would make sense if they were grooming her-"

"They aren't," Fabray interrupts, running her fingers through her hair to straighten it out. "Her test scores are only on the high end of average, and she has way too many people who would notice if she disappeared. She has a strong internet presence, not to mention she's currently being scouted by colleges around the country."

Pierce purses her lips. "How long do we have before I have to integrate?"

"You've been registered at McKinley, and your first day is Monday," Fabray replies, flicking through her Blackberry. "Since the coach, Sue Sylvester, is on retainer for the Agency, you got into the Cheerios without a tryout, and you're excused from this weekend's practice, so..." Fabray visually collects her thoughts, "Monday. Yes, Monday."

"Right," Pierce nods, flipping her folio open to the first page to get a good look at her assigned first name. "I'm Brittany, according to this. What shall I call you, Fabray?"

"Quinn," Fabray replies, pulling up Finn's dossier, "and we're cousins with the same last name, so that's Quinn and Brittany-"

"Right, I know," Pierce shrugs, picking up the folio and crossing the room to jam it into the hidden compartment Fabray pulled it out of. "So, _Quinn_ , I'm going to go scope out the town."

"What?" Fabray stares at her. "You can't-"

"I can, and I am," Pierce says cheerily, not letting Fabray finish. "I'm dumb, remember? I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, as long as it's not blatantly illegal or suicidal."

Fabray continues to stare as Pierce saunters out of the room, blowing her a kiss and teasing, "I'll be back before sundown, honey."

[*]

The town is just as boring as Fabray said. Lima is technically a city, but looking around, Pierce isn't really sure why. She's been to every major city in the continental US (plus Anchorage), and none of them have this... small-town feeling. Even Columbus to the south has a city vibe to it that Lima lacks, and the lack of that vibe makes the hair on Pierce's neck stand up.

She ends up at the mall, which is pathetic by anyone's standards, walking around and taking inventory of the stores. Pierce knows she could order all her new clothes (there's no way her old clothes, tailored exquisitely for a mid-twenties adult woman, will be appropriate for a seventeen year-old girl) online, but she doesn't particularly want to bring attention to the fact that she's buying a whole new wardrobe by having UPS at the house every day.

It's in a clothing store that she has her first up-close-and-personal encounter with one of the locals.

The store is one of those that caters to teenage girls by having clothing, accessories, and sub-par piercing services all in one, and Pierce spots a girl palming a set of earrings. Her hand shoots out and grabs the girl's wrist, refusing to let go when the girl tries to yank it back, and just like that, they're face-to-face.

When she first noticed the girl shoplifting, all Brittany really noted was the girl's height (shorter than Pierce), her long black hair, and the part where she was really bad at hiding what she was doing. Now that the girl (woman, Pierce corrects herself, because no girl is fleshed out like this one is) is facing her, Pierce can objectively say that she's gorgeous.

The shoplifter is all strong facial features and long eyelashes over deep brown eyes. Those same eyes flash fire at Pierce when they meet her own blue, and the woman's mouth is pulled up into a sneer so practiced she must do it in her sleep.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She hisses, trying again to pull her hand back. She's stronger than Pierce expects, but still not as strong as Pierce herself. "You're gonna get me caught, you dumb-"

Pierce plucks the earrings from her hand, putting them back and pulling on the shoplifter's arm hard enough to get her out of the store.

"You're really bad at that," Pierce says in a voice a little higher than her natural one, dropping the shoplifter's arm.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't go _all_ Lima Heights on your ass," the woman seethes, crossing her arms just under her (very well-endowed) chest.

Pierce opens her mouth, fully intent on saying something in-character for sweet-but-dumb Brittany. What comes out instead is, "because you were right in front of one of the hidden cameras, and if you make a fuss, I'll mention it to management."

She smiles sweetly into the other woman's silence, continuing, "I'm pretty sure that would get you banned from that store, if not the entire mall."

"What do you want?" The woman asks bluntly, raising an eyebrow and cocking her hip to the side.

"I'm Brittany," Pierce says, internally wondering how the hell she came here intending to be Brittany and ended up being more herself than she has ever been on an assignment. She holds out her right hand, keeping her smile on. "And all I want is your name. And maybe a handshake."

The woman looks her up and down, purses her lips, and reluctantly reaches out to shake Pierce's hand. "Santana."

When their skin touches, a thrill runs through Pierce, and her gaze drops to Santana's lips without her consent. The logical part of her mind reminds her that one of the places that Pierce and Brittany meet is their appreciation of everything that looks good, and adds that, appearance aside, Santana is probably in high school. Most grown women don't have that kind of belligerence once they leave it, and don't go about shoplifting in stores that cater to 12-16 year-olds.

"Do you go to McKinley?" Pierce asks smoothly, experimenting with a small bouncing motion that has her bobbing a bit on her toes. It has her feeling a little ridiculous, but she decides it's in character for someone who is completely unaware of what people think of her, as she has decided Brittany is.

"I thought you just wanted my name," Santana says warily, pulling back her arm and re-crossing it over her chest.

Pierce shrugs unselfconciously, reminding herself to be proud for falling into character this easily. "You're like, super cute, and I would totally give you my number if it were Monday and my aunt and uncle had had my phone turned back on. So I want to know if I'll have another chance to."

The valley girl is a nice touch, Pierce thinks to herself. Valley girls are already generally considered to be less intelligent than other girls, so she can frame her "I'm a dumb blonde" remarks with some valley, and it'll be an easier pill to swallow.

Santana snorts, rolling her eyes. "Just 'super cute'? That's practically an insult, Blondie."

"Well, I can't really see all of you, so I'm not sure," Pierce shrugs again, filing Santana's reaction away for future analysis. It's certainly not the one she expected (a Midwestern high school girl just accepting being hit on by a girl she's never met?), and she wonders if it's Santana that's different, or if sexuality really isn't a problem here. "And you didn't answer the question."

With a smirk, Santana comments, "I'm sure you'd like to see the whole package, wouldn't you? Yeah, I go to McKinley. Captain of the Cheerios. You must be new, since you're not, y'know, cringing in fear right now."

"Oh, cool," Pierce bounces again, internally wary. If Santana is really the captain of the Cheerios, Pierce will have to be careful to make any mannerisms or speech quirks consistent from now on. "I'm on the Cheerios."

"No, you're not," Santana says automatically, giving her a skeptical look, "I would have seen you already."

"Quinn said I am," Pierce grins, wondering what the official cover story is for how she got in without an audition, "I was like, the best gymnast at my old school."

"Uh huh," Santana keeps looking at her like she's lying, but plays along, "so I'll see you at practice tomorrow, then? Doing like a million laps?"

"Nope," Pierce smirks, enjoying the back and forth, "I've got to like, buy new clothes and unpack and stuff."

"Right. Well, _Brittany_ , if you really are a Cheerio," Santana's attempts to stare her down show just how little she believes that to be possible, "you can give me your number at practice on Monday. I'll need it anyway."

"Sure," Pierce beams, Brittany's cheerfulness starting to grate on her nerves a little. She already knows she's going to have to find a way to make this combination of "always in a good mood" and "dumber than a box of rocks" work for her, or she'll get ulcers. "And then you can text me, so I can teach you how to not suck at shoplifting."

"Whatever," Santana dismisses her comment, then turns and leaves without saying goodbye.

Pierce counts it as a victory, even though she's not sure why she cares.

[*]

When she gets back, Fabray is sitting in the living room with a book, looking about ready to have kittens.

"Honey, I'm home!" Pierce belts, even as Fabray turns to face her.

Fabray is unamused, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not sure how you managed to already meet and piss off Santana, but good job."

Pierce shrugs, wondering for a brief moment if the movement is hers or Brittany's. "She was shoplifting, and I stopped her. I'm pretty sure I made a very... Brittany first impression."

Fabray pulls out her phone (a more feminine smartphone; almost definitely her "Quinn" phone, as opposed to her work phone) and reads, "if your cousin isn't really on the Cheerios, you're running twice as many laps as everyone else all year."

"I am on the Cheerios, so your hamstrings can thank me," Pierce deadpans, falling onto the couch across from Fabray.

"You haven't even finished reading your profile, and you're already talking to people we're going to be interacting with," Fabray hisses, locking her phone's screen and dropping it to her lap. "Are you insane?"

"That profile is bullshit and we both know it," Pierce says, dropping the reckless rebel act. "I've got two degrees and an IQ that tests can't properly measure. There are three things that who I am and who they want me to be have in common, and two of them are related to sex."

Fabray doesn't answer, and the eyebrow stays raised, but her posture relaxes a little.

"Besides, what they gave me is practically a caricature. People like that don't really exist, unless they're mentally disabled," Pierce continues, slipping off her shoes and stretching out her legs, "and even so, that's an insult to mentally disabled people. No one that isn't literally delusional really believes their cat  _smokes cigars_."

Fabray looks to reluctantly agree with her, and Pierce seals it with, "one of the first unofficial rules that all agents have to learn, is that as long as you get the job done, the Agency could give a fuck about the small details."

With a silent sigh, Fabray changes the subject. "Are you ready to hear about Finn now, or are you going to go piss off someone else we're going to have to deal with for the duration of the assignment?"

"For you, honey," Pierce smirks, rising from the couch and kicking her shoes toward the door, "I'll hear about all the Finn Hudsons in the world."

[*]

Finn Hudson is just as boring as Fabray said. By all accounts, he's a self-important jock among a herd of self-important jocks, only he's dating the captain of the show choir. Listening to Fabray's monologue (Finn is too boring for Pierce to interject any but the most necessary questions), Pierce wonders why Headquarters even bothered to mention him. Aside from the fact that he's huge, and has a negligible amount of muscle tone from playing football, he's the least threatening human being she has ever seen, from his dopey smile to his habit of getting caught on film making ridiculous faces.

"So she's dating the Pillsbury Doughboy," Pierce says at the end of the briefing.

"Essentially," Fabray agrees, one corner of her mouth twitching. _Well hot damn, she might have a sense of humor,_ Pierce thinks to herself, inwardly smirking. "If he weren't a direct part of the assignment, I wouldn't be bothering to brief you on him."

Pierce leans back against the couch, which she absently decides she's having sex on as soon as possible, allowing herself time to process. Fabray said there's something "off" about Finn, but his profile is so incredibly normal that Pierce figures she'll have to wait to meet him to see if she agrees or not. Rachel herself has a similarly normal background, and by all accounts, everyone else is just as boring.

"Tell me about Santana," Pierce says, as a way of giving herself more time to think while keeping Fabray in the room.

Fabray takes a deep breath, heaving a silent sigh. "Since she's not a part of the assignment, I don't have a ready profile of her-"

"No, but you've already been here for- how long?" Pierce presses, wondering if Fabray will flip if she takes her shirt off to get more comfortable.

"A month," Fabray admits, her jaw tightening.

"And in that month, you've seen enough of Santana to exchange phone numbers," Pierce reasons, absently fingering the hem of her shirt, "so you have to have more of an opinion about her other than 'stereotypical sadistic cheerleader that captains the Cheerios'. Give me something beyond that."

Fabray's eyes widen when Pierce recalls Fabray's words from earlier verbatim, and she recovers quickly, but not quickly enough to hide it from Pierce's trained eyes. "She's..." Fabray purses her lips, pausing for a few seconds before continuing, "a bitch." The tips of Fabray's ears color, and Pierce raises an eyebrow in amusement. "There's no other accurate way to put it. She tears down everyone and anyone that she feels like, and while she's not a part of the physical intimidation and I don't think she's ever personally thrown a Slushie, she orchestrates a lot of the hate at the school."

"That's consistent with what I saw," Pierce agrees encouragingly. "Do you know anything about her sexuality?"

Fabray's eyes widen then narrow in quick succession, and she answers, "no, but I don't have a reason to believe she's anything other than heterosexual."

"I do," Pierce says, watching Fabray's posture turn from slightly tense to poised. "I hit on her at the mall, and she acted like it happened every day. No revulsion, no surprise, nothing."

"It _does_ happen every day," Fabray gave a slight shrug. "Objectively, she's a beautiful woman. The other Cheerios are terrified of her, and even some of them have roaming eyes."

"You included," Pierce surmises, her sharp eyes catching Fabray's brief flinch.

"I have eyes," Fabray allows, crossing her arms over her chest, "and as I said, objectively, she's beautiful, no matter how offensive I find her personality. Just because she's used to being hit on by women, doesn't mean she's interested in them."

"You know," Pierce starts, changing the subject abruptly to catch Fabray off her guard, "you could always just sleep with Finn to get him away from her."

Fabray surprises her by not disguising her grimace. "I would really rather not." She eyes Pierce, adding, "I know you've read my profile, and I have the feeling there's a joke or jab brewing somewhere inside that head of yours, so I'll be blunt: yes, it's because I'm a lesbian. I _could_ sleep with him, but I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't vomit during the act."

"I could do it," Pierce says, shrugging her Brittany-shrug. It's actually not a bad motion, nonchalant without being pretentious about it, and Pierce may keep it after the assignment is done.

"I don't think that's the best solution here," Fabray says, after a few seconds of contemplation. "The ideal is to have the mark trust both of us enough that we can easily protect her, and that's not going to happen if one of us sleeps with her boyfriend."

"I think I could get away with it after some time spent establishing this persona," Pierce thinks aloud, "give me a month or so, and I'll have enough stupid and promiscuous credit to do just about anything, with minimum consequences."

Fabray considers it, then shakes her head. "We can talk about it when you feel like you could do it without damaging Rachel's trust - which neither of us has yet - if it's still necessary. Right now, I want to focus on gaining that trust."

"How do you propose we do that, Quinn?" Pierce asks, her relaxed body language off-setting how ready she is to pounce on any flaw in Fabray's logic.

"First we get to know her better," Fabray says simply. "I've already joined Glee, and you should too. I'm in about half of her classes, but the mocked up grades we have for you won't allow you to get into Honors classes with us, so you've got to have that in."

"I'm not the best singer, but I can carry a tune," Pierce allows, her mind working to find any flaws, or factors Fabray isn't factoring in, "and I'll likely be the best dancer they have. I would say I should tone it down a little, but apparently dancing is the only thing I'm allowed to be good at." Pierce allows a bit of disgust to creep into her tone during the last sentence. "Speaking of, I should find a studio soon."

At Fabray's blank look, Pierce continues, "no dancer worth the name would go too long without a practice space. I'm sure our budget can handle me taking a few dance classes a week, and it'll help keep up the ruse, as well as give me more potentially helpful contacts. Since Rachel's friends are performers, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them take classes."

Her mind shifts tracks again, and she asks, "is Rachel taking either French or Spanish? Most schools will let you test into those classes."

"She's taking Spanish," Fabray tells her, then cocks her head. "And how do we explain Brittany's sudden proficiency?"

"If she's in a low-level Spanish class, we say I spent the summer in Mexico," Pierce says easily, "and if it's higher, I make something up about my parents being prejudiced, or say I was getting private lessons. Really, we don't have to explain it to anyone but the administrators, and you already said they're typical of the breed, meaning they won't look into it if they don't have to."

Fabray nods. "The guidance counselor is... a nutcase, but more observant than she first appears, so be careful about how 'Brittany' you are."

Pierce waves a hand dismissively, rising from the couch. "Is that all?"

"That's all you need for now," Fabray says, "you can look up any town history or anything else on your own; you already know more than Brittany would."

"Thanks, honey," Pierce smirks, walking toward the door, "what's for dinner?"

[*]

Rachel is exactly as talented as Fabray said she was, and the Cheerios are more so. Pierce finds a baby blue laptop with her name on it sitting on the bed in the room Fabray tells her is hers, and she flips it open so she can watch Rachel while she stretches.

It takes her all the way until dinner (Chinese) to get through all of Rachel's videos, and she has just enough time to watch half of a Cheerios routine before Fabray calls up that their takeout has arrived.

"You were right about Rachel," Pierce says between bites of General Tso's, "if she has any ambition at all, she'll be on a major stage within ten years. Maybe sooner, if she auditions for the right productions."

"I know," Fabray agrees, delicately eating her shrimp fried rice in a way that tells Pierce she has some etiquette training. "Speaking of Rachel, I was thinking of inviting her over either tomorrow after practice, or Sunday, so you can meet her."

"You have Rachel's number too?" Pierce shakes her head, leaning back against the kitchen cabinet. "Did you just go around getting the number of every hot girl at that school, or what?"

"No," Fabray says prissily, then takes another bite, saying casually, "I don't have Tina Cohen-Chang's yet."

Pierce laughs into her box, narrowly avoiding spraying food. "I didn't know you actually had a sense of humor, Fabray."

"I don't," Fabray says neutrally. Pierce has no idea if she's joking or not, and it just makes the entire thing better.


	2. Chapter 2

Pierce wakes up the next day knowing that Fabray has already left for practice. One of the harder Agent tricks to learn is registering events that happen while you're asleep, and being able to evaluate whether or not they're worth waking up for. It's even harder being able to recall them clearly when you come to full consciousness, but Pierce made a point of working at it until she got it.

Doing a full-body stretch in her room without feeling an urgency to be up on about her business feels like the height of luxury to Pierce, even above and beyond the many luxuries she's enjoyed during her career. She lies in bed for at least a full minute, staring at the ceiling and reveling in the fact that she has all day to do what she needs. Of course, she can't spend it all in bed (her Agent training would force her to be up and productive, whether or not she had anything mission-related to accomplish), but this minute spent away from a schedule is glorious.

When she gets up, Pierce takes a longer shower than she's used to, feeling her muscles relax under the warm water. Her need to be productive has started prickling at her, but really, all she has to do today is study up on Lima, pull up dossiers on the students and faculty at McKinley, and look for a dance studio. Fabray mentioned last night over dinner that the Cheerios wear the uniforms everywhere (even on the weekends or during the summer, which had Pierce staring in disbelief), so she can slowly acquire a non-uniform wardrobe, as opposed to having to buy it all at once today.

Lima, Ohio, is exactly as boring as any town in Ohio could be expected to be.

Pierce reads the wikipedia article and finds out quite a bit about railroads, oil, and healthcare. She digs deeper and follows the wikipedia sources to find out more, but there's just not that much to the city. Even the Agency files, which are normally full of links that end in "restricted information" pages, are nearly bare, mentioning all of three assignments that have taken place in Lima. None of them are in the past ten years, and they were all passive surveillance for future Agents. Pierce isn't so naive as to believe that she would have access to high-clearance assignments, should they have taken place here, but even though she's been here for all of twenty-four hours, she's already willing to believe that nothing important has happened here _ever_.

The only thing that catches her attention is that [Phyllis Diller](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phyllis_Diller) was born in Lima, but even Phyllis left Lima like a bat out of hell as soon as she was old enough for college.

She grabs her "Brittany" Sidekick smartphone (delivered overnight by UPS) and texts Fabray, saying, _Lima is like, really boring. Even Phyllis Diller couldn't make it funny, and she's awesome._ and goes back to her research. Pierce knows she needs to get used to texting every few seconds like a normal teenager, and even though she knows Fabray is at Cheerios practice, the sooner she starts the habit, the better off she'll be.

The faculty of McKinley isn't any better. The teachers she'll have are boring; all of them graduated from OSU Lima Campus, all of them were born in Lima, and the worst she can find in any of their records is that the French teacher had a dropped charge of public nudity. The rest of them have the usual things like parking tickets and movement violations, and a few formal reprimands from the administrators of McKinley. The principal and choir director are both failed actors, and according to Fabray the guidance counselor is a nutcase, but none of it is out of the ordinary for a small town.

Her phone chirps, and she flips it open to see a text from Fabray. It reads, _Are you up for having Rachel over later today? I know you're still unpacking, so it's okay to say no._. Pierce mulls it over for about a minute. On one hand, she can always use the time to scout the town and study, but on the other, it's likely best she meet Rachel as soon as possible.

 _Sure! I hope she's not allergic to cats. Tubbs' fur is still all over all my clothes and stuff._ Pierce texts back. Cheerios practice doesn't end for another two hours, so Pierce clears her browser history and closes her laptop, hopping off the bed. Time to do some exploring.

[*]

Her Lima-specific internet search doesn't reveal a dance studio, but Pierce isn't surprised. Not everyone has put their business on the internet yet, and some places purposely hide themselves away, so they _don't_ get all and sundry.

Wandering the town (and sexting Puckerman, listed in her phone as "boy from the party" just in case) is an exercise in discipline. There are a few restaurants, a bowling alley, a movie theatre, a roller rink, and that's about it. Almost everything shuts down at 9pm, well before the time the typical partying teenager would finally go to sleep, and she can see why teen alcoholism and pregnancies are so high in this area. She had heard that all there was to do in the more rural areas was "drink and fuck", but she didn't think they meant it quite so literally.

Pierce does eventually find a dance studio. There is no sign, and no indication of what it's used for, but when she looks in the main window and sees a middle aged woman practicing ballet forms, she knows she's come to the right place.

She breezes through introducing herself as Brittany, giving a meandering explanation as to why she's signing up for three dance classes at a time, and paying with her "uncle's" credit card. Within thirty minutes, she's registered for Modern, Lyrical, and Hip Hop, and there's a smile she doesn't have to fake lingering on her face.

Even the incredibly uninteresting walk back to the house can't wipe it off of her lips, and Pierce reflects that, even if Rachel is an unbearable diva, a large part of today will have gone right.

[*]

Rachel sweeps into the house like a miniature tornado.

She introduces herself with a flirtatious flip of her hair that her eyes don't follow up on, and enthusiastically goes on the tour Fabray offers. Rachel has something to say about every room, even if it's just to say that "the decorating is impeccable". Pierce watches Fabray play off the basement as being their aunt and uncle's studio and therefore off-limits, surprised at Fabray's ability to portray a teenager of her supposed background and general personality.

Whenever she's addressed, Pierce smiles and makes friendly, slightly strange conversation. Rachel is knocked just as off-balance as Pierce would expect her to be, but proves more open-minded and polite than Pierce would have thought, sidestepping Brittany's off-beat remarks about her cat with grace. She wouldn't go so far as to say she likes Rachel, yet, but playing the role of Brittany won't be as hard when Rachel's around; the girl just accepts and adapts to it as if it's nothing out of the ordinary, once the first shock is past.

Pierce takes the time to work on her Brittany quirks and speech patterns, but more than that, she's watching Rachel and Fabray.

Rachel doesn't seem to have the kind of social filter that most people have developed by the time they hit high school; if she's feeling something, it radiates on her face and throughout her body language. The one thing she's very good at, however, is directing the conversation away from things that could be considered socially unacceptable, as Pierce learns by watching Rachel avoid the subject of Quinn and Brittany's hippie aunt and uncle.

Fabray has worn into her role rather well. Pierce can still see small tells when Fabray is working on the fly (Rachel asks what Quinn's favorite childhood vacation was, and Pierce catches the half-second pause before Fabray laughs ruefully and replies that she's always loved the ocean), but the majority of the time she seems well-adapted to being Quinn.

The only thing Pierce can fault her for is that she catches Fabray giving Rachel looks that are a little too appreciative, and Pierce is fairly certain Quinn isn't supposed to be attracted to women. Santana's level of comfort with Brittany's obvious flirting suggests it wouldn't be a problem if Quinn _were_ gay, but as Pierce isn't completely sure, and she doesn't think Fabray is entirely aware that she's looking at Rachel that way, she makes a mental note of it.

After a few hours, in which Rachel teases Fabray gently about Quinn's room and Pierce fades into the background, Rachel excuses herself with a smile and a hug for them both. Pierce bounces forward and hugs her warmly, and watches as Fabray hangs on for just a split-second longer than is strictly friendly. Pierce knows she isn't imagining Rachel's obvious pleasure, or the slight dilation of her pupils, but if the Gleeks in general and Rachel in particular as as big of social pariahs as Fabray said, it's not surprising Rachel enjoys any snatched opportunity to touch people.

When the door shuts behind Rachel, Fabray turns to Pierce, her body language immediately tightening up. She raises an eyebrow in a clear, _well?_ and Pierce purses her lips.

"I'll let you know over dinner," she says thoughtfully.

Fabray nods in acceptance, and disappears into her room.

[*]

"You could sleep with Rachel instead of Finn."

Fabray deliberately puts down her flauta and stares at Pierce.

She had been visibly startled when Pierce had offered to make dinner, and reluctantly impressed when her cooking turned out to be not just edible, but appealing. Pierce had smirked and told Fabray that she had learned how from a Mexican lover she had taken when she worked in Chicago. Pierce had taken a sadistic sort of pleasure in slowly ramping up the unbelievability of the story until finally Fabray had given her a prim look and ignored her. Until now.

Pierce looks up to acknowledge Fabray's unamused staring, then goes back to her flauta. She can wait Fabray out; she's ventured this far, and now it's up to Fabray to return the volley.

"What." Fabray's voice is flat, making the word not a question to clarify what Pierce had just said, but a declaration that Pierce could not possibly have said what Fabray's ears were telling her Pierce had just said.

The flauta is delicious, as is Fabray's attempt to be self-righteous, so Pierce continues eating. They both know what Pierce said, they both know what Pierce meant, and she's wholly uninterested in playing that particular game right now.

"Why would I sleep with Rachel instead of Finn?" Fabray's tone has moved from flat to warning, not that Pierce has any intention of heeding it.

"You're a lesbian," Pierce says simply, as if it's the solution to all their problems. It's not, but fucking Rachel to break her and Finn up would certainly solve one of them. "So you're not going to sleep with Finn."

"So, because I'm a lesbian," Fabray's tone is losing the detached air it usually has and becoming more heated, "you want me to have sex with our mark."

"No, because you're an Agent, I want you to get the job done," Pierce says bluntly, finally putting her food down. She leans back in her chair to fix her eyes on Fabray's. "You're supposed to separate them. Infidelity will do that, if not now, then later."

"Not always," Fabray argues, "sometimes the other person can forgive-"

"So make it unforgiveable," Pierce breaks in, "make it an affair instead of a one-night stand."

"That's not the only way to separate them," Fabray counters, leaning forward a tiny bit. "I could-"

"You could what?" Pierce says mercilessly, "do what you've been doing for the past month, which seems to be check out her ass every time she's not looking?"

Fabray flushes, and Pierce feels a thrill go through her. If Fabray will actually fight her on this one-

"I haven't been," Fabray mumbles, staring down at her plate.

Pierce snorts when she backs off, and rolls her eyes when Fabray's eyes move up to meet hers. "We both know you have been, and even if Rachel hasn't noticed, other people will."

Fabray purses her lips. "So, what, I should become her back door woman?"

The contempt in Fabray's voice is adorable, but Pierce is not fucking around. She may have told Puckerman that she was going to babysit, but she has no intention of actually doing so. This is a real assignment, not training, and Fabray needs to put on her big boy pants.

"You gave up your dignity when you signed your Agency contract," Pierce says cruelly, "now it's time to be a big girl and do what real Agents do: whatever gets the job done."

They finish dinner in silence.

[*]

Normally, Pierce would do more research on her location and the people she'll be working with and around, but really, this is all there is to Lima and the people in it. She looks up specific businesses and their histories, Lima in national news, the Senior class of WMHS, and other odds and ends just to feel like she's getting something done.

By the time she's ready to go to bed, she's memorized the profiles of Fabray, Rachel, Finn, and of course her own sparse one, and feels like she's read up on every single student she has even a small chance of encountering. They're all boring people in a boring shoebox town, and she cannot wait until she's done with this assignment and back to her own life.

[*]

Sunday is even more boring than Saturday. There's no Cheerios practice on Sundays (or Thursdays, which Pierce thinks is an odd day to exempt), but even so, Fabray excuses herself from the house by saying she's going to Rachel's. Pierce refrains from commenting and resigns herself to boredom.

An hour later, she's wandering around the town. She'll admit to herself that she's hoping to see Santana (as the only other person she's seen that is interesting in any way), but even though she spends about half the day in the town proper, she sees not a glimpse of the Cheerios Captain.

Fabray still isn't back by the time Pierce returns, and out of desperately she downloads and installs The Sims 3 to keep her occupied. It works for as long as it takes Fabray to get back, and they order dinner with as few words as possible.

Lying her in her bed that night, Pierce reflects that if the majority of her days in Lima are going to be this boring, she just _might_ have to get in on that "drinking and fucking" train.

[*]

The first day of class at WMHS is interesting, to say the least.

Pierce signs up for classes with a guidance counselor who is just as batty as Fabray said she was. She manages to talk (slash confuse, Pillsbury is taken aback anew every time Pierce says something "Brittanyish") her way into normal classes of every subject Brittany needs to graduate, and asks to test into Spanish IV.

It's laughably easy to find out that there are only two Spanish IV classes, and disturbingly easy to find out that Santana is in one and Rachel in the other (not that Pierce hadn't already hacked into the school system to find these things out, but she had honestly thought that she'd have to worm the information out of the guidance counselor, which would have been a good way to get to know her social weaknesses for future use). Pillsbury won't tell her which is which, but she does agree to give Brittany a proficiency test, though the look in her eyes says she doubts Brittany will pass it.

The test consists of Pillsbury calling in the Spanish teacher, a classically good-looking man whose entire being screams "I am too involved in my students' lives!", and he proceeds to carefully probe into Brittany's Spanish knowledge. Pierce smoothly out talks Schuester (whose profile listed him as proficient, an error she'll remedy when she gets back), and is declared Spanish IV material. Pillsbury tactfully asks why Brittany would want to take the class, when she's obviously proficient, and when Pierce says something about both Santana and Rachel being "super hot", Pillsbury drops the subject and prints her out a schedule.

Her first class is English, which she finds out she shares with Finn. They haven't met yet, and there's no reason she would know him on sight, so she suffers through the teacher's introduction of her and sits behind Finn where she can keep an eye on him. He's exactly the way his profile and Fabray described him - spending most of the class time passing notes with the jock next to him, frowning through an incorrect answer when the teacher calls on him. There's something a little off about him, but Pierce can't yet put her finger on it. It's a a general feeling of unease, and unease is such a rare feeling for her that she files it away instead of ignoring it.

At the end of class, she stands and gathers her stuff like everyone else, only to be met with about two-hundred-fifty pounds of football player.

"Hi, I'm Finn," Finn grins, holding out his hand for her to shake. "You're Brittany, right?"

Pierce shakes his hand - a less firm shake than she'd give as herself, but stronger than most women's - and nods, bouncing a little on her toes. "Yup. Hi, Finn."

"Hi," Finn repeats, still grinning. "So, you're new here?"

He turns to start walking, and Pierce resigns herself to having an escort to her next class. Her first instinct with a guy that introduced himself as soon as he was given a chance would be to look for the sexual aspect of it, but Finn's gaze stays on hers, and there's nothing lewd about his body language. It's enough to throw up a few red flags in her mind, because she's gorgeous and he's straight enough to be dating the captain of the show choir despite the social stigma.

"Yup," she answers, her mind still working below the Brittany facade, "from SDHS. You're Rachel's boyfriend, right?"

Finn nods, lumbering with her to her math class. "For two years now. We co-captain the Glee Club." A pause, then, "hey, can you sing?"

"A little," Pierce shrugs, rolling her eyes inwardly. Even Rachel hadn't made a pitch for Brittany joining Glee Club within five minutes of meeting her. "I'm a really good dancer, though."

"Really?" Finn's face lights up. "We don't really have any dancers. I mean, Quinn's pretty good, but she doesn't know how to choreograph, and Mister Schue's choreography is pretty bad."

Pierce hums in response, and Finn ducks his head. "Sorry, I should have asked first: do you want to join Glee?"

"Sure," Pierce says easily, catching sight of her math classroom. "It's Thursdays, right?" Without waiting for a response, she nods to the class, saying, "this is my next class, I think, so I'll see you later."

"No way," Finn grins, stepping into the classroom with her, "it's my next class too! You should sit next to me."

Pierce sighs inwardly. If she shares all her classes with Finn Hudson, it's going to be a long day.

[*]

Turns out, Pierce has her first three classes of the day with Finn, and after a quick look at her schedule he says they have five out of seven classes together. They separate for Physics and Spanish IV ("you must be really smart to be in Spanish IV." Finn says knowingly), but those are both at the end of the day, and as fate has it, they share a lunch period.

"This is gonna be so cool," Finn enthuses, "Rachel's in this lunch period too. We sit with my step-brother Kurt and his best friend Mercedes and her boyfriend Sam and sometimes Quinn. You're Quinn's cousin, right?"

Pierce nods, and when they get to the lunch table, she can't help but look around to see if Santana is in the room as well. She's not, as far as Pierce can see, so she takes a seat next to Fabray, who is indeed sitting at the table this time.

"Hey, Quinn," Pierce smiles, wrapping an arm around Fabray's back for a few seconds.

"Hey, Britt," Fabray smiles back, her body going stiff for a split second before she returns the hug.

"Wow, I think that's the most emotion I've ever seen out of Quinn," Mercedes comments, shaking her head, "I like you already."

The table laughs, and Pierce smiles shyly as she goes over profiles in her mind. Kurt Hummel is an aspiring Broadway actor, son of the owner of Hummel & Son Tires & Lube. Mercedes Jones' profile has nothing about her personally, only that her grades are middling and she's a member of the Glee club. Sam Evans is a goofy transplant from the South who moonlights as a stripper at a local gay club. Pierce had laughed at that, wondering how many of his friends knew he took off his clothes for pay on the weekends.

Fabray rolls her eyes and introduces her to the table. They all smile welcomingly, Rachel and Sam's smiles more genuine than the rest, and then they fall back into the conversation. Pierce waits about a minute before excusing herself to get some food.

"Blondie." Santana's voice rings out behind her, and Santana bumps their hips together accidentally-on-purpose before standing in line next to her.

"Hi, Santana," Pierce chirps, giving Santana a blatant once-over.

She's already seen the uniforms a few times on girls in the hallways, and of course on Quinn a few minutes ago, but unlike anyone else she's seen in it before, Santana _owns_ it. She looks like she's eaten, slept and breathed in the uniform for years, and Pierce can admit that that kind of confidence is attractive.

"Enjoy your last day of wearing your own clothes," Santana says casually, her eyes flicking up and down Pierce's body, "after today, you'll have more Cheerios uniforms in your closet than outfits of your own." Santana snorts. "If you're good enough to stay on the team, that is."

"I am," Pierce says simply, paying for her food and walking back toward the table.

"Yeah, well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Santana says, walking at her left side.

Pierce forces herself not to raise an eyebrow when Santana sits across from her, next to Sam. The rest of the table raises enough eyebrows for her, with only Quinn nodding to Santana before going back to her food.

"What are _you_ doing here, Satan?" Mercedes demands, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Eating, Tot of the Year," Santana fires back, rolling her eyes. "Something you're more than familiar with."

"Oh, hell to the no," Mercedes snaps, standing up.

Sam tugs her back down, saying softly, "you started it this time, 'Cedes."

"Yeah, whatever," Mercedes huffs, sitting back down at Sam's insistence.

"So, will you be joining Glee Club, Brittany?" Rachel asks politely, blatantly changing the subject, "Finn was just telling me that you're an exceptional dancer, and Quinn confirmed."

"Yeah, sure," Pierce shrugs. She meets Santana's curious gaze, and Santana quickly turns the curiousity to boredom and picks at her food.

"Well, even if you aren't as talented vocally as I am," Rachel says condescendingly, not seemingly to realize how offensive what she's saying could be, "don't worry, because almost no one is, and we still welcome performers of all talent levels."

That gets an eyeroll out of Kurt and Mercedes, who turn the conversation to celebrity gossip. Pierce tunes it out as she eats, only paying attention when Santana interjects the occasional cutting comment about some celebrity or another. When Tina Cohen-Chang (a pretty girl who meets Brittany's eyes shyly and mumbles a hello) joins them a few minutes later, Santana's comments become more frequent, and Pierce concludes that Santana is a lot more clever than the rest of the table seems to think she is, if the ingenuity of her sarcastic remarks is anything to go by.

Pierce also concludes, after one too many barely-concealed glances from Santana, that she's going to have some fun with the Captain of the Cheerios, whether or not it's part of the mission.

[*]

It's just Pierce's luck that the Spanish IV class she gets is the one with Santana, and not the one with Fabray and Rachel.

She can't really find it in herself to complain, though, not when the teacher assigns her the seat next to Santana. Having Spanish IV in the first place will enable her to ask Rachel for the assignments, and maybe for tutoring if she feels it's necessary, and really, that's all she needs.

Schuester calls on Brittany exactly once, and when Pierce gives a reply in perfect Spanish that involves two llamas and a penguin, Santana gives her a disbelieving look.

"Why are you even bothering with this class?" Santana whispers when Schuester turns around to write something on the board.

Pierce smiles, and says simply, "I didn't want to take Theatre."

Santana snorts and goes back to doodling on her notebook.

Schuester doesn't call on Brittany throughout the rest of the class, and he doesn't once even look in Santana's direction. Pierce purses her lips and wonders why, but lets it go when the bell rings and Santana leads her out to the football field.


End file.
